


pull, pull just enough

by Anonymous



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Age Difference, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Underage, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 13:03:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21476452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “I know.” Arthur can’t look up at Bruce, still clinging to his hip, still touching him because he is a bad, creepy old man. “I’m sorry.”“You always say sorry.” Bruce yanks Arthur’s head forward. “Finish it so you can leave me alone.”
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 16
Kudos: 193
Collections: Anonymous





	pull, pull just enough

**Author's Note:**

> [writes angsty plotless shotacon at 3:30 a.m. when i have a morning class the next day] yeah

"You're beautiful," Arthur murmurs, his lips brushing Bruce's neck, kissing the fluttering pulse point he finds. One hand grips the couch for balance and the other grips Bruce's thigh, pushing his leg up so their hips can nearly touch. Nearly. It's always just a near thing. "Oh my God, you're beautiful." 

Bruce doesn't respond. There's only a sigh when Arthur's shaky hand slips around to the front of Bruce’s trousers, undoing the button and zipper and fumbling like always. Arthur is already so hard he thinks it could start to ache and they’ve been tangled up together for really only a few minutes now. 

Arthur buries his face in Bruce’s skin and breathes it in, smelling sweet soaps and pine as he forces Bruce’s pants and underwear down just enough to stroke Bruce’s little cock. Bruce shivers underneath him and it’s all Arthur needs. 

“Please, let me—“ He mouths at the skin just behind Bruce’s ear. “—I want—I want your cock in my mouth. I need to taste you.” 

“Fine,” Bruce says, his voice weak but flat. 

Arthur creeps backwards and takes Bruce’s clothes with him, unknotting his shoes and dropping them unceremoniously on the floor before the pants and underwear join as well. Arthur always wants to have Bruce clothed as little as possible. He dips his head down, his fingers on one hand folding over Bruce’s slender hip, the others holding Bruce’s cock as he takes it in. 

Bruce is stubborn. Hopelessly, agonizingly stubborn, always refusing to let Arthur know what he does or doesn’t enjoy. He’s very purposefully bad at this, but Arthur doesn’t begrudge him for it. Arthur probably thinks he, himself, was the same way with Penny’s boyfriends way back when. Maybe it’s just his age or maybe it’s the way Bruce is, but either way, he won’t let himself make a lot of noise. Not even when Arthur is between his legs. Arthur can feel the way Bruce’s thighs tremble and the way a small, clumsy hand will grab at his hair and pull, pull just enough so that it feels like something, but Bruce will bite his own fingers or his shirt or press his hand against his mouth and shut his eyes in protest of his soft whines and moans and pleas. Now, even as Arthur’s lips touch the base of Bruce’s cock and his tongue drags along the underside, Bruce will not make a sound. 

Except he does this time, almost impossible to hear, but Arthur does anyway. It’s a tiny cry as Bruce’s hips try to snap up of their own accord, the sound muffled in the palm of his hand. His fingers wrap around Arthur’s hair and push at his head, too sensitive. Which means that Arthur is getting better at this and the realization comes with a leap of joy and satisfaction. 

He pulls away and presses kisses to the inside of Bruce’s thigh, working his way down. “That was quick.”

“Too much too fast,” Bruce bites out, shoving the heel of his hand into Arthur’s head. Arthur winces and flushes in immediate guilt and shame. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Arthur hesitates before letting his lips linger on Bruce’s thigh, close to the juncture of his hip. He presses his cheek against the soft, warm skin, listening to his own breath waver. “I want you,” he says, his voice broken into pieces. “So much. So much that I feel like I’m probably just going to die from it. I—I don’t care if it can’t happen now, I’ll wait, I swear, but I want you and I can’t ever stop thinking about it. I think about it when I wake up and I touch myself and then I feel fucking guilty again.”

“Then stop that,” Bruce says coldly, making sure it hurts when he grinds his palm into Arthur’s head a second time. “I don’t understand why you touching yourself is my fault.”

“It’s not. It’s not. I’m not saying that. I’m saying that I just. . . I think about you all the time. About what it would be like. How it would feel.” 

“Why do you need to do it with me?”

That’s a question Arthur wishes he had a better answer for. Feeling stupid and too long and lanky and overbearing and monstrous and ancient next to Bruce, Arthur’s heart twists in on itself and aches like an empty stomach. “I care about you. And I—“ He swallows, admitting his greatest sin out loud. “—I’m attracted to you. Sex is usually, um, it happens because of those two things. For the most part.” 

“Shouldn’t you do that with someone bigger than me?” Bruce’s voice is clipped and degrading and every word is another scratchy, bleeding, teary passage in Arthur’s journal waiting to happen. 

Arthur just nods against Bruce’s thigh.

“Why won’t you?”

Arthur has to take a moment before he responds. “I can’t.” 

“Why?”

“I just can’t.” And Arthur can’t think about why because it makes him feel abominable, like it’s crawling under his skin. It makes him feel like the lecherous, flesh-eating freak that he is. As he strokes Bruce’s hip with his thumb, he eyes the boy’s cock, hard and pink and insignificant and cute and perfect. 

Even though he’s promised himself never to ask, Arthur is drowning right now and it shouldn’t make it much worse. “. . . would you let me? Ever? I promise it wouldn’t hurt. I’d be careful.”

“Doctors have told me that before. You could be just as much of a liar as them.”

“I’m not. I don’t lie.”

“It’ll hurt no matter what you say. You’ll like it and I won’t. Just like always,” Bruce adds, harsher as he twists his fingers in Arthur’s hair and pulls. Arthur hisses between his teeth and the pain goes straight to his cock, heat flooding his face. “I could’ve just been friends with you, you know, if you weren’t a bad, creepy old man who liked to touch me all the time.”

“I know.” Arthur can’t look up at Bruce, still clinging to his hip, still touching him because he is a bad, creepy old man. “I’m sorry.” 

“You always say sorry.” Bruce yanks Arthur’s head forward. “Finish it so you can leave me alone.”

And Arthur does, because he’s helpless to do otherwise. He sucks Bruce’s cock into his mouth, reaching between his own legs to try and bring off some of the horribly painful tension. He palms himself and it’s almost enough to bring tears to his eyes. It hurts. Everything hurts. 

When Bruce comes, his hips meeting Arthur’s mouth again, there’s nothing to swallow and Bruce is a hypersensitive bundle of nerves, drawing himself away from Arthur and releasing the hair in his fingers. Arthur can’t take it anymore and he shoves his pants down just to where they need to be the second he’s able to come up for air, frantically licking his palm before wrapping his fingers around his cock. 

It takes maybe only a few pulls before Arthur is choking out something that might be Bruce’s name as he comes, spilling onto the couch, just mere inches from where Bruce lays curled up at the end. It almost makes his vision fuzzy for a moment, but it’s still unsatisfying. 

Bruce watches Arthur’s trembling, bird-boned frame for a moment before twisting around to pick a lighter and a half-empty pack of cigarettes up off the side table. He sets them down in front of Arthur on a seat cushion. “Why do you want me if I’m never kind to you?” Bruce asks softly. 

Arthur is taken aback for a moment before he can zip himself back up, but he does manage to. “Oh. Well. . . people aren’t kind. Not really. I don’t think anyone is. It’s always been that way, so it’s fine. I don’t need you to be.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to want people who treat you badly, even if everyone does.” 

“It’s fine if you do.” Arthur is never a creature of habit around Bruce. He always stumbles and crashes and can never do anything right on his first try. He burns his fingers when the lighter gets too hot because his cigarette refuses to light. “You’re just. . . that way. You hate me for the right reasons,” he mumbles. “Not for the wrong ones.”

“I don’t hate you.”

Arthur successfully lights a cigarette on the third try after being able to do it on the first try for twenty-three years. “Could’ve fooled me,” he says, half-smiling, but of course Bruce doesn’t get the joke. Maybe it’s because it’s actually not a good joke and it’s just Arthur trying to smile while telling the truth.

Bruce shakes his head and climbs off the couch. “I don’t. I think you’re a very bad man, but I don’t hate you. I think _you're_ just that way.”

“Oh,” Arthur says, sounding hollow. “Maybe. Yeah.”

Bruce begins to put himself back together, brisk and businesslike beyond his years. “Have you always wanted boys?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur answers honestly. “I think it just happened along the way.” 

“Will I want boys someday?”

That freezes Arthur’s blood like ice as he blinks at Bruce. “I. . .” He shakes his head, numbed. “I don’t know.” 

“Hmm.” Bruce says nothing else for a moment before he sits on the floor in front of Arthur. He reaches between Arthur’s legs, taking the lighter and cigarettes for himself. 

Bruce, the book-smart, cultured, purebred, genius future patriarch trapped in a nine-year-old’s body is able to light a cigarette on the first try. “I don’t want to end up like you.”

“I don’t want you to, either.” 

“You are disgusting, you know.”

Arthur lets his head fall back over the couch and exhales smoke towards the ceiling, his heart no longer empty, but heavy and sitting firmly in the darkest pit of his stomach. 

“I know. I’m sorry.” 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [wearing your broken body on](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21521212) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)


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